Aboard Cabrillo's Galleon (18 page)

The sun was arcing toward the west and Cabrillo was just pulling on his shirt after a swim in the river when Captain Ferrelo appeared and abundantly affirmed the confidence that had been placed in him by the procession that followed. Rather than sending a runner back to plead for reinforcements,
La Victoria's
captain strode into the open with full water kegs being carried and rolled by his men as well as some of the Indians he'd encountered. Cabrillo buckled his belt as he awaited the group and upon their arrival was immediately and quite heartily embraced by the native leader. The captain-general was released, however, with a suddenness that almost knocked him off balance as the chief got his first glimpse of the horses around the curve in the beach. He let out a startled exclamation that was immediately joined by shouts and grunts from his men. Barrels were dropped in the sand and several hands reached for bows. Cabrillo stood back a step and addressed them all with a tone and gestures of reassurance, saying, “Easy, easy, now. The horses are our friends, our
friends
. They will not harm you.” Still smiling, still in the same voice, he added, “Leave your bloody weapons alone and come sit down with us. Yes, just so, good, good, this way.” He ushered them to a shady area where they were seated; the natives finding positions from which they could keep their eyes on the horses. And as the Indians made their equestrian study Cabrillo mentally noted the physical similarities of his new guests to the natives of Puerto de la Posesión. This was easily done given their complete absence of clothing.

He began their discussions with amiable vigor, and the chief pulled his glance away from Viento to respond in kind, each attempting to question and explain, but, again, the lack of a common verbalism allowed them to convey extremely limited details. As before, the art of trade provided a universal translator.

At Father Gamboa's discreet suggestion, the captain-general ordered yards of cloth to be rowed ashore and added to the small gifts already bestowed by Ferrelo at his first encounter, and the Indians joyously tied pieces of the brightly colored fabric around their waists or draped them over their shoulders. Cabrillo had previously explained what he wished in return, and runners draped in crimson, violet, and emerald were now sent racing inland.

Soon more natives began to appear carrying baskets of food for both men and horses. Trading continued and the exchanges delighted the natives, and that delighted Cabrillo almost as much as his somewhat replenished consumables.

The afternoon evolved into an impressive feast, abundant with fish and roasted maguey, which the natives had made from the plump leaves of agave plants. Having witnessed many times how unrestrainedly wine could affect a man new to its influences, Cabrillo had allowed only a taste to each of his native visitors. Fortunately, none of them showed any desire to consume more of what seemed only a bitter and unpleasant liquid. The wine rations of the men were also strictly monitored, regardless of amounts they might have consumed in the past.

If the guests were unimpressed by the drinks and food offered by the Spaniards, including the captain-general's prized olives, the same could not be said when they observed the black men, horses, guns, and other weapons that the Spaniards allowed them to inspect closely. After checking for the second time to confirm the health of Viento's legs and hooves Cabrillo threw his leg over the back of his bridled but unsaddled stallion and rode him slowly along a short stretch of the beach, much to the awe of his new audience.

As the sun began to reach toward a cloud-streaked horizon, the Indians displayed many signs of friendship while they prepared to leave, and they drifted back into the interior bearing many images of the wonders they'd witnessed that day. By the time the last of them had disappeared, though Cabrillo had received regular updates during their visit of, “No change to report, sir,” he was anxious to return to the ship to see for himself how Manuel and his other ailing men were faring.

Once onboard the
San Salvador
the captain-general was heartened to learn that the conditions of two of the sailors were improving. But back in his cabin, as he approached closely and studied Manuel's face, Cabrillo could discern little variation in him. Again he knelt beside the cot but this time Father Lezcano added his voice to the prayers. Despite their hopes and efforts throughout the night and into the next dawn, Manuel's fever only gathered strength.

Father Lezcano was sent ashore to care for the horses. Dr. Fuentes suggested removing Manuel from Cabrillo's cabin to reduce the risk of the captain-general falling ill from exhaustion, but he refused to allow it.

By mid-morning their commander's draining worry and need for sleep finally became so apparent to Fuentes and San Remón as they stood beside him exchanging concerned glances that at last his pilot said, “Captain-General, please, you must sleep.”

Cabrillo merely shook his head.

“If you will not rest, sir, perhaps some time ashore will help, even if only for a short time.”

“The crisis is likely to be hours away, sir,” said the doctor. “We will send word of any development.”

No response came.

Pilot San Remón, knowing his captain-general's softest spots, offered a last attempt at persuasion. “Father Lezcano may need guidance with the horses, sir. He is new to that role.”

The captain-general stared at Manuel, who slept restlessly under the torture inflicted by his burning body. After several moments Cabrillo rose stiffly to his feet and turned toward the doctor and pilot. Flexing his tightened shoulders and then rubbing his tired neck, he acquiesced, “A short visit, then. I will return within the hour.”

Captain Ferrelo and his men, who had just returned from another scouting mission, greeted the captain-general as he landed. “All is quiet, sir. No natives in sight today.”

“Fine, Captain.”

He walked among the men for a while, quietly encouraging their work on the sails or their own clothing, or gazing inland with the sentries from their hilltops. When he rejoined Ferrelo, his captain asked, “How is Manuel, sir?” Every man in the fleet knew what this companion meant to their commander.

“There is little change for the better.”

“Perhaps soon, sir.”

“I will ask Father Lezcano to offer a Mass for him.”

“Very good, sir.”

Cabrillo returned Ferrelo's parting bow and headed around the outcropping of trees that blocked his view of the corrals. As he drew nearer to the wooden barriers he heard no acknowledging neigh from Viento, but his mind was so preoccupied that he barely noticed. It wasn't until he looked up and scanned the other three horses without seeing Viento that his heart began to increase its pace. He walked more hurriedly around the enclosures toward the trees that served as posts on the inland side and gazed searching in that direction. Nothing.

“Father Lezcano,” he called out, telling himself that there was a simple explanation for Viento's absence. Yet he remembered with painful clarity his telling the priest to keep his horses contained at all times unless given permission to do otherwise. “Mateo!” he cried, circling the corrals completely and this time eyeing the sand. Though human prints marred the smoothness all around the enclosure, on the far side of the corral where Seguro was contained Cabrillo spotted a set of Viento's tracks. They led off toward the mountains, and were mingled with more human footprints. He started trotting along the line of the prints, and then loping at an increasing speed, and then running so fast that his chest burned, his anger gathering momentum right along with his legs. As he crashed into the forest curses and threats burst from his lips like bees from a beaten hive. His breathing grew ragged and his legs tight but he pushed on through the slapping branches and grabbing undergrowth. He reached a small clearing and suddenly spotted Father Lezcano. The priest was leading Viento back toward him but Cabrillo slowed his pace only slightly. He could see that Viento was heavily lathered and his eyes were wild. There was a bleeding cut on his left shoulder. He was hurt.

When Cabrillo reached them Father Lezcano tried to speak but Cabrillo grabbed the rope of Viento's halter and shouted into the priest's face, “You bastard!”

Again the priest tried to make himself heard, but Cabrillo yelled, “You sneaking bastard! I was right about you!”

Under this verbal assault the face of the priest darkened to crimson and his teeth gritted tight, and Viento danced and snorted, but Cabrillo was beyond noticing.

“I was a damned fool to listen to Father Gamboa. He claimed you were trustworthy, that you—”

Father Lezcano drew back his right fist and smashed Cabrillo in the mouth with enough force to knock him off his feet. Viento tried to rear but Cabrillo never loosened his grip on the halter rope. When the captain-general jerked his gaze up he saw that the priest was even more stunned than he. Paralyzed and speechless for a moment, Father Lezcano gaped at his fist as if trying to discover how it had so abruptly developed such a destructive mind of its own.

Cabrillo touched his split bottom lip and drew away fingers reddened with blood.

“Captain-General...” Father Lezcano wheezed in a strangled voice.

Still sitting where he'd fallen, Cabrillo thrust out the flat of his hand to silence him. He spat the blood from his mouth and ran his tongue over his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mateo cringing amongst the trees. His gaze found the priest again, and he spat once more. A moment later the captain-general's shoulders began to agitate at the same cadence of a deep rumbling that was rising in his chest.

Father Lezcano would never have guessed that he could be more shocked than he'd been by his own incredible action, but it actually seemed that the commander he had just struck, a crime for which he could lawfully be put to death, was starting to chuckle. In fact the laughter grew steadily within Cabrillo until it burst from him so loudly that birds took flight in screeching protest from the branches of a nearby tree.

Father Lezcano fell to his knees, too stunned to stand, wondering if a temporary madness had claimed the fleet's master, and watched without a word as Cabrillo gradually regained his breath.

Mateo stepped from the greenery and cautiously approached them. He knelt courageously beside the priest, yet faced Cabrillo with utmost respect.

A little wobbly, Cabrillo got to his feet and patted his skittish stallion. He walked up close to the priest and the boy, and took in their sweat-stained clothes, their worn faces. He sighed and said softly, “Will you please forgive me, Father?”

“Forgive
you
, sir?” This time Father Lezcano feared that his punch had done lasting damage.

“Yes. If I had been in my right mind I would have realized that Viento had escaped, and that you were merely retrieving him. Your footprints were made after his, were they not?” He glanced at the braid rope in his hand and then at the horse's head. “And he is wearing his corral halter rather than his bridle. You were not riding him.” Cabrillo's bleeding mouth stretched into a painful smile. “If these things, which my mind should have grasped sooner, were not enough to convince me of your innocence,” he said, lifting a hand to massage his aching jaw, “your punch certainly was.”

Struggling against both wariness and shame, Father Lezcano could make no response.

“Did he jump the fence?”

“Yes, Captain-General,” whispered the priest.

Mateo now roused his own small voice. “A snake as thick as my arm crawled into the corral, sir. Viento killed it, but then he fled. We chased him for miles.”

“I see.”

Father Lezcano offered nothing more. He stood awaiting a sentence that surely must come despite the captain-general's confused request for forgiveness. He was not prepared for Cabrillo's next command.

“We will never speak of this again. None of us.”

“Sir...”

“Not to anyone, Father.” He glanced intently at his nephew. “No one, Mateo.”

“No, sir!”

He held the boy with his eyes, his expression growing firmer. He knew a permanent impression must be made. “If word were to get out, Mateo, I would have no choice but to order this good priest drawn and quartered.”

“Oh, no, no, sir! Never will a single word about this day come from my lips!”

Above the boy's head, Cabrillo cast another weary smile at the priest, revealing that the threat of drawing and quartering had been an idle one. He touched his bleeding mouth again, this time thoughtfully. “I must come up with some explanation to give the men for my fat lip and loose teeth. Perhaps God will forgive such a small lie, eh, Father?”

Father Lezcano swallowed hard and said in a voice that fell to a mumble. “I believe He will, sir. I thank you, Captain-General Cabrillo.”

A slight twinkle appeared in Cabrillo's eyes. “I hope I prove as worthy a student at learning from my beating as you have from yours, Father.”

Understanding and gratitude swelled until it overwhelmed Father Lezcano, and he turned his face toward the sea to conceal this tide of emotions.

Cabrillo turned his attention to Viento's cut and determined with great relief that it was superficial. The birds overhead and the waves on the shore did the talking as he led them slowly back to the camp. Once there, the men and boy groomed and pampered the fine horse together.

Late that evening, with Cabrillo and Dr. Fuentes watching over the patient, Manuel's fever broke. When the physician finally finished his ministrations and left the room, Cabrillo remained close by slumped in his chair, his head lowered in prayer.

With all that had happened during the day and despite the lateness of the hour, he had allowed Mateo to remain in his cabin and help tend to Manuel. In the cooling, still night air the boy looked up and said with quiet earnestness, “Captain-General, I am very happy you did not have Father Lezcano punished a second time.”